


Unexpected Paradise

by Aegwynn



Category: Warcraft, Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft (Comics), World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Blow Jobs, Fucking, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:28:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23366194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aegwynn/pseuds/Aegwynn
Summary: In a Dalaran tavern, a lonely Arator the Redeemer decides to celebrate the Legion's fall with a glass of wine. He doesn't expect to have his pants charmed off - figuratively speaking, of course - by Aethas Sunreaver.
Relationships: Arator the Redeemer/Aethas Sunreaver
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	Unexpected Paradise

The streetlamps were glowing in the twilight as Arator made his way through the crowd. It seemed the whole of Dalaran was out in the streets tonight, celebrating the Legion’s fall, and Arator could hardly blame them. What was a little celebration after such a long and grim campaign?

A spark flew into the sky overhead and erupted into an explosion of colour that rained down over the heads of the people gathered in the street. Arator smiled as a cheer went up among everyone around him. It was nice to hear laughter again. How many times had he stared up at the stars and wondered if he’d ever have it in him to smile again? To laugh? The stars tonight were no longer tinged green or veiled in smoke – they were bright and beautiful, just like the many upturned faces in the crowd, smiling and raising a glass to the sky. Yet for Arator, laughter still came with difficulty, and as he finally saw the sign of a Hero’s Welcome appear up ahead, he found himself wondering how many glasses of Dalaran Red it would take before he could laugh with abandon like the rest of them.

The tavern was alive and bustling with activity. Drinks were flowing freely through the packed house, with tankards of ale and bottles of wine being passed around over the heads of everyone gathered. The barmaids could barely make their way through the room, serving trays held high above the crowd, likely with the aid magic – this _was_ Dalaran, after all. Lively music filtered down from the balcony above, and Arator even spied a group of people dancing in the middle of the room, heads bobbing and arms swaying in time to the rhythm of a drum and the rousing tunes played out on fiddle and guitar, with the flute singing high and clear over the din.

Well, Arator thought; if he could go anywhere to escape the silence of his apartment and the unpleasant thoughts that troubled him there, this was as fine a place as any. So he headed for the bar to order that glass of Dalaran red and lose himself in the wild energy of the night.

It took him 7 full minutes to make it through the room – most people couldn’t hear him as he said “Excuse me,” so he started pushing his way through the crowd instead. Everyone was too enthralled in the music or their conversations to notice or care. At least two elves slid an arm around his waist and tried to sweep him onto the dance floor, and he tried his best not to push past dwarves without asking; they tended to prefer courtesy, even when drunk off their asses. By the time he reached the bar, his hair was plastered to his face and his robe was clinging a little too closely for his liking. With so many people gathered so close, the air was hot and humid, and as Arator tried to catch the attention of the bartender, he wished he had at least tied his hair up so random drunk people would stop trying to pet it and tell him how pretty it was.

It took another 5 minutes of constant waving for the bartender to notice Arator standing there at the end of the bar. By the time he finally received his glass of wine, a gnome had fallen off the barstool he was standing next to, and when he disappeared into the crowd, Arator claimed the stool himself and let out a long sigh. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d left the relative quiet of his apartment for this, as the energy of the room was slightly overwhelming; but he settled a bit once he downed a mouthful of wine.

The wine burned as he swallowed, and he took the opportunity to survey the room. It was nice to just watch people sometimes – to steal these small glimpses into their lives and to pretend for a moment that he was someone else, without the burden of so many years spent on the periphery of other people’s lives, hardly daring to live his own. Perhaps he could be the elegant elf holding court on a plush fainting couch by the stairs, telling a story to an enraptured group of admirers. Or perhaps he could be the gnome dancing on a tabletop, face flushed and smiling as a nearby group of humans cheered him on. Arator was so used to melting into the background – rarely ever did he see faces light up when he talked, and never did he have the desire to draw an audience at all, let alone have the charisma to entertain them.

“What’s a paladin like you doing in a place like this?”

The voice pulled him from his reverie and startled him. He hadn’t noticed anyone approaching, and the shock of surprise sent some wine tumbling onto his robe.

“Don’t worry,” said the elf as Arator tried to dab some of it up with a napkin. “I’ll get you cleaned up all right.”

Arator hardly knew _how_ he was going to do that, as the fabric of his robe practically drank in the wine. The red stain was spreading over his thigh, darkening as it went, seemingly undeterred by Arator’s frenzied attempt to soak it up with the napkin. The elf’s fingers gently brushed Arator’s, stilling his hand as he pushed it aside and covered the stain with his own. Arator could hardly look at him; he wasn’t sure it was proper to have someone touch him this way in public. What’s more, this was the most contact he’d had since he’d last parted with his parents, and the longing that it stirred within him was somewhat embarrassing.

The elf’s hand suddenly grew very cold, drawing a soft gasp from Arator’s lips, only to be replaced soon after by a soothing warmth. When the elf withdrew his hand, Arator’s robe was dry and clean, fresh as new.

“Well now,” said the elf, resting his hand lightly on Arator’s knee. “That’s much better, isn’t it?” Already the warmth from the spell was receding, and Arator looked up, surprised to find a familiar set of green eyes staring at him.

“You,” he said as recognition dawned on him.

“Yes,” said Aethas Sunreaver as a grin spread across his lips. “Me.”

“I healed you,” Arator said, setting his glass aside on the bar. They had been on Krokuun, and their front lines had failed. There had been _so much_ blood…

“You did,” said Aethas. “And I never did get to thank you properly.”

Maybe it was the temperature in the room, or maybe the wine was already going to his head. Either way, Arator suddenly felt very hot. “It was my honour,” he stammered as Aethas slid onto the barstool next to him. After all, what else could he say? _It was my pleasure_ sounded too forward, though tending to the mage had been a pleasure indeed; he was beautiful, even covered in dirt and grime, and he had been kind, even when delirious. So kind, in fact, that Arator had found himself wondering that if they ever met again, he might…

No, it wasn’t appropriate. Arator decided he wouldn’t allow his thoughts to wander that far.

“So,” said Aethas. “You here alone?”

Arator could feel his eyes on him, roaming over his chest, down to his hands neatly folded in his lap. He wasn’t sure he liked the hungry way the mage looked at him; it made him feel… peculiar. He took another swig of wine. He was alone, of course; but he wasn’t sure he wanted to admit as much for fear of the implications.

“It’s nice to see everyone in good spirits,” he said instead. 

Aethas smiled again and brought his stool closer to Arator’s. “You know,” he said, raising his voice over the din as he leaned in, “I’ve been hoping to run into you since I was released from the healers’ care. I wanted to tell you myself how grateful I am that you took such _good_ care of me.”

Arator was keenly aware of how close Aethas’ thigh was to his own; he could hardly think straight as the mage peered at him searchingly. A memory stirred; a delirious Aethas clutching Arator’s hand, begging for a reprieve from the pain. At the time, it had nearly rent his heart in two. Now, seeing Aethas alive and well – fully recovered from his injuries – Arator realised how lucky they had both been. He, that he had gotten to Aethas in time; Aethas, that it was Arator who found him instead of another warrior.

“I’m glad you recovered,” Arator said, and he earnestly meant it. “It was – it was difficult out there. On Argus.” He allowed himself to steal a glance at the mage’s body, eyes roving over the areas where his wounds had been, now covered by a fine button-up shirt and slim-fitting trousers. He didn’t realise his hand was shaking until he went to lift his wine glass and found he couldn’t hold it still. He let his hand fall instead onto the bar and rested it there.

“It was,” agreed Aethas, resting his hands next to Arator’s. “I’m so lucky you found me in time. I wish I could find a way to repay you for your kindness.” Slowly, he stroked a finger over the back of the paladin’s hand, so lightly it made Arator’s heart race as Aethas peered at him strangely. Aethas’ fingers were soft, not rough like they had been then, and Arator suppressed a shiver as the contact sent a thrill up his spine.

“Tell me,” he said, clearing his throat, “What happened to you once we got you back to the Vindicaar? I didn’t – that is, my duties kept me occupied elsewhere.”

That was a lie – he had handed Aethas over to the healers on the ship, of course, but he’d been curious enough to look in on the mage a few times after that during the course of their journey home. The first time, Aethas had still been out of sorts, rambling about things Arator didn’t quite understand; he had sat by his bedside then, holding Aethas’ hand as he tried to soothe the mage to sleep. The second time, Aethas had been out cold, red hair splayed out on the pillow like flames framing his pale face, and he looked so peaceful that Arator had merely lingered in the doorway and watched him sleep. The third time, well – Arator wasn’t sure he wanted to remind Aethas in the instance that he _did_ remember it. It was embarrassing enough having witnessed it.

Still, Arator didn’t interrupt Aethas as he animatedly recalled the period of his convalescence. He simply smiled, eyes drinking in the many ways his beautiful face came alive – the way he wrinkled his fine, thin nose; the creases that appeared at the corners of his eyes as he smiled; the flush to his cheeks that made the green of his eyes stand out even more as he spoke. But it was his lips that now fascinated Arator – they were thin, but still plush and inviting. Arator watched him speak as if in a trance, thoughts wandering far past what would be normally appropriate for a paladin, wondering how those lips would feel against his own, against his neck, kissing their way down to –

Aethas had stopped speaking and was now staring at Arator, grinning like a cat, and the paladin realised that Aethas had asked him a question, and he had no idea what it was. “I’m sorry,” he said a little too loudly. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I said,” Aethas repeated, eyes shining, “I have a confession.” He leaned in closer and beckoned for Arator to do the same. Heart pounding, Arator followed, savouring the warmth radiating from Aethas’ body and the light scent of woodsmoke that clung to his hair.

Arator gripped the table as Aethas’ lips brushed his ear. “I’m absolutely _weak_ for cute blonds,” he whispered, nipping playfully at the paladin’s earlobe as he slid a hand up Arator’s thigh.

The half-elf nearly leapt from his seat in surprise, drawing a laugh from the mage’s lips. Arator’s cheeks grew hot as he stammered a non-committal reply. That only seemed to further encourage Aethas, who leaned in to brush a lock of hair from Arator’s face.

“Look at you,” he teased, hooking a finger under the paladin’s chin. “Blushing all the way to the tips of your ears. Do you blush all the way to your toes, I wonder?” Arator could hardly speak, eyes wide as Aethas dragged his thumb along the contour of Arator’s bottom lip. “I’d like to find out.”

At that admission, any semblance of decorum that Arator had been trying to uphold was completely lost. He sighed softly and closed his lips around Aethas’ thumb in a gentle kiss, and the next thing he knew, Aethas was pulling him to his feet and into the crowd.

Arator didn’t have it in him to protest, nor did he want to. His lips tingled where the mage’s thumb had been, and as they pushed their way through the tavern’s crowd, Arator’s heart was pounding as hard as the drum driving the melody on the dance floor. He didn’t protest even as they burst out laughing into the street, and Aethas roughly shoved him up against the stone façade of the tavern and kissed him hungrily. The paladin moaned into the kiss, which only seemed to excite Aethas all the more, and then once again they were off down the street, hands still clasped together as they ran into the night.

Arator didn’t even know where they were going, though he assumed it was to Aethas’ flat. The city was a blur as they turned town winding cobbled streets, pausing occasionally to share another frenzied kiss in an alcove or archway. By the time Aethas led him up a narrow stone staircase, Arator was breathless and desperate, still clutching the mage’s hand and imagining how those hands would feel roaming the expanse of his body.

They barely made it into the apartment before Aethas shoved Arator up against the door, hungrily pressing his lips to the paladin’s as his hands traveled south. Arator’s fingers clawed at Aethas’ hips, desperately trying to pull him closer. In response, Aethas shoved a thigh between Arator’s legs, earning him a whine from the paladin that became a moan as Aethas rolled his hips to grind his own arousal against the hardness restrained beneath Arator’s robe.

Arator broke the kiss to murmur a soft, “Please,” against Aethas’ neck as the mage began hiking up the hem of his robe. When he didn’t move fast enough for his liking, Arator let out a groan and attempted to rut against the firmness of his thigh, which drew a deep chuckle from Aethas’ lips and stilled his hands.  
  
“My, my,” he grinned, stepping away from their embrace. “We’re quite impatient tonight.”

  
Quite beyond words, Arator merely stood there, propping himself up against the door as he nodded and gulped down breaths of air, cock hard and throbbing and still straining against his smallclothes.

“I love the way you look when you’re desperate,” Aethas said, delicately cupping Arator’s cheek in his hand as he brushed a thumb along his cheekbone. Then he let his hand fall, trailing down the paladin’s arm until he twined their fingers together again and pulled him forward, leading him deeper into the apartment.  
  
They kissed their way through the room, Arator’s hands tugging impatiently at the buttons on Aethas’ shirt. Aethas happily took it off and then focused his attention on ridding Arator of his robe and smallclothes, which pooled around his ankles as Aethas also unceremoniously shucked off his pants. Upon seeing Arator’s arousal in all its glory, Aethas murmured his approval. His hands were warm and soft as they palmed his length, and Arator could hardly focus; the moment the mage brushed a thumb against the head of his cock, Aethas nearly devoured his lips in a hungry kiss that told him he was pleased to find him already so hard and ready.

Eventually, they slowed to a stop, and Arator dared open his eyes long enough to find they had reached the bed. Aethas wasted no time in drinking him in, enjoying seeing Arator naked and exposed as he stood before the elf, so very flushed and wanting. He barely had time to feel embarrassed before Aethas sank down onto the bed, and Arator watched, heart pounding, as he reached for him, surprisingly strong hands sliding over his hips before gripping the curve of his ass.

It was _so good_ to be touched, to be held like this, Arator thought as he recalled all those long, lonely nights he had spent fantasising about lying in a lover’s embrace. He smiled down at Aethas, and as they locked eyes once again, Arator found his gaze drifting to the mage’s lips, now parted and panting and altogether too tantalising to resist. He wanted to feel those lips everywhere – on his neck, down his back, across his hips, sliding onto his cock – but found he wasn’t sure how to ask for that. Aethas, however, seemed to sense that desire and pulled him forward, pressing a kiss to his hip as Arator’s fingers combed through his hair.

The anticipation was killing him as Aethas’ soft lips kissed their way lower, lower, until the soft wetness of his tongue found the base of Arator’s cock. A moan escaped the paladin’s lips unbidden, which seemed to encourage the mage, who dragged his lips up the length of Arator’s cock and paused to whisper, “Is this what you want?” before those gorgeous lips parted again and wrapped around Arator’s swollen head.

The moan that escaped Arator’s lips was positively obscene, and encouraged Aethas to moan his own appreciation around Arator’s cock. Arator felt, more than he heard, the moan, and it was nearly enough to send him over the edge, his cock twitching and throbbing as Aethas’ hot tongue slid along its length. Aethas seemed to sense this and pulled back, grinning wickedly as he eased himself back onto the bed and pulled Arator down with him.

It was maddening to be deprived after having Aethas’ mouth on his cock. Arator forced himself to focus as he straddled the mage, fingers hooking beneath the waistband of his smallclothes as he eased them off and Aethas kicked them aside. He loved what he found beneath it all – smooth, hard abs and a gorgeous cock adorned at the base with a shock of red hair, already throbbing and leaking like his own. He glanced up at Aethas, who was watching him from beneath heavy-lidded eyes, and smiled shyly as he wrapped his fingers around the base of the mage’s cock and attempted a few curious strokes. Aethas whimpered, hand slamming down onto the mattress and clutching the fabric of the duvet so hard that his knuckles grew white. Encouraged, Arator continued, eventually finding a rhythm that had Aethas bucking his hips with each stroke.

And the _sounds_ he made. If Arator thought his own had been obscene, Aethas’ moans were downright pornographic. Each time a moan left his lips it went straight to Arator’s cock, until he eventually slowed his strokes and peered up at Aethas, biting his lip as another request caught in his throat.

“What? What’s wrong?” asked Aethas, chest heaving. “Your hands – your hands are _magic_.”

Arator enjoyed the flush in his cheeks as he said it; he was, after all, quite good with his hands. But when it came to voicing his own desire, he didn’t know if he had it in him to even form the words. “I – I’d like…” he trailed off.

Aethas sat up and reassuringly ran a hand through Arator’s touseled hair, reaching down with the other to massage one of this thighs. “You can tell me,” he said, and the sincerity in his tone was encouraging enough that Arator felt confident enough to ask for what he wanted.

“I – I’d like… I’d like you inside me.”

The grin Aethas gave him was positively feral. In one swift movement he shifted their positions, pinning Arator to the mattress as he positioned himself between the paladin’s legs. “You don’t have to ask me twice,” he murmured before pressing a trail of kisses down Arator’s spine.

Arator buried his face in the mattress as he heard the _clink_ of glass on glass. It seemed every nerve, every pore of his skin was on edge, alive and begging for more of Aethas’ attention. He nearly squealed as the mage’s strong hands slid over the cleft of his ass, massaging a warm, soothing oil into the skin as a finger teased his hole. Arator rolled his hips back to expose more of his ass to the mage, and reveled in the sound of approval it earned him.

Aethas swore as he slid a single finger into Arator, working him open gently at first, then with more vigor as Arator began whining and rolling his hips back against Aethas’ hand. Each movement was pleasure, was _bliss_ that Arator felt from the tip of his toes to the flush of his cheeks as his heart pounded in his chest like it was going to burst.

“Another?” Aethas asked, his voice rough with desire and need. Arator wordlessly nodded and moaned into the mattress as a second slick finger joined the first. Encouraged, Aethas became more bold in his ministrations, and it wasn’t long before Arator began to fuck himself on Aethas’ fingers, too impatient to take much more yet begging for him to keep going.

He felt Aethas rise up on his knees as he withdrew his fingers and smoothed his hands over Arator’s hips. “Is this what you want?” he asked, slowly sliding the head of his cock over Arator’s hole. Arator practically screamed his response, and when Aethas entered him, it was all he could do to grip the mattress for dear life. The mage raked his fingers through Arator’s hair – now a complete and utter mess – as he found his rhythm, gripping it tightly and pulling his head back as he murmured endless words of approval against the paladin’s neck.

It was only a few thrusts before Arator screamed his release into a pillow and came, hot and thick, onto the sheets beneath him. As his entire body clenched around Aethas’ cock, Aethas’ thrusts grew wild and ravenous, and Arator reveled in the animalism of it all – of having another person work him until he couldn’t speak, of his own body drawing out his lover’s pleasure as Aethas found his release with a soft cry, of giving _himself_ over to pleasure so complete he couldn’t even _move…_

Aethas collapsed, chest heaving, against Arator’s back. It seemed neither of them could quite find the words to express what they had just shared. Instead, Arator smiled as Aethas folded him into his arms and laid his head against the mage’s chest. His heartbeat, now slowing, was as soothing as any music, and Arator allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he basked in the afterglow.

“That was – that was – good,” Aethas stuttered, pressing a kiss to Arator’s brow. Arator couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across his lips. This time, when they kissed, it was soft and languid and almost gentle.  
  
Arator thought it was the perfect way to express his gratitude for what would be the first of many nights they spent tangled in each other’s arms.


End file.
